Hindrances

Chapter 9

We didn't talk about that night for the rest of the trip to New Orleans. We didn't call each other by our first names either. I still slept in the same bed as him, but we weren't cuddled up next to each other again. I just stayed to one side, as far away from Mr Lancaster as I could be, and he did the same.
I was slightly disappointed since it felt like we just started everything over again, but once in a while I was able to see a warmth in his face that told me that he was somewhat different now.
"Miss Hemmings, get up. We are docking now and I do not want you wasting my time!"
Yes. So much warmth.
And, of course, his precious time.
How could I ever forget?
Groaning internally, I pulled myself up out of the bed. I commended myself silently since it took a lot of strength.
When I got on the deck, the first thing I noticed was the humidity. It wasn't like the Venezuelan humidity, but New Orleans was so crowded and congested, it almost seemed worse– maybe because it was also French. The smell of sweat, filth, and fatty foods filled the air. The heat only intensified it. I felt nauseous.
Strangely enough, however, there was a something about the atmosphere that I liked (and it wasn't the French part). Houses were all built close together, closer than in London, so I had a feeling that neighbors knew each other well. There were children happily running in the busy streets while their mothers scolded them from a distance. A group of musicians on a corner were playing some strange music. It wasn't the classical music that I would dance to at ball. This was much more upbeat with complex harmonies. The musicians themselves seemed ragged and worn, but something about them suggested friendlyness. They were older than me and probably also Mr Lancaster, but not by much. Maybe their 40s? Even late 30s?
Straying from Mr Lancaster's side, I dodged through the crowd as I approached the musicians. I was almost trampled once and I ran into dozens of displeased people, but I made it to the corner relatively unscathed.
There were five of them- a trumpeter, a trombone player, a snare drummer, a clarinet and a...
Well, I had no idea. It almost looked like a clarinet, except the bell was bent up.
"Pardon me, gentlemen, but what is that?" I asked, pointing at the not clarinet. I tapped the snare drummer on his shoulder to get attention without yelling.
"Why, this thin' 'ere, Miss?"
The accent surprised me. The slow, southern drawl that I had never heard before was, well, obviously strange.
"I, uh, yes..."
"Hey, y'all! We git a fancy lady 'ere!" the trumpeter teased. I had noticed that my accent stood out among the Southerners. It also stood out among many Londoners. Being around Mr Lancaster 24 hours and seven days a week had helped me develop more of an upperclass accent. I had only recently noticed as well.
"It's uh saxophone." [1]
"A sacks-uh-phone? I'm not familiar with that."
"Dave, that's Dave righ' 'dere," he nonchalantly gestured to Dave, "got it righ' from France. They's armies 're usin' it these days."
"Ye ninnies! She don't know nun of us!" the trombone player playfully slapped the drummer's shoulder.
"We's got Dave on that sax, Jim's on the drum, Harley on the trumpet, Will on the clarinet, and I'm Bran. We was all born 'n raised 'ere, 'n somethin' tells me that you ain't from aroun' 'ere."
"That's right. London."
"That explains the fancy talk-"
"Miss Hemmings! Why must you wander off!"
Mr Lancaster's shouts distracted me. I watched with satisfaction as he struggled to get through the crowd. He was slightly less lucky than I was, since he actually ran into a horse. I bit back laughter as I could see him contemplating if he should waste his time yelling at a large animal. Presumably, he decided against it and foced all of his attention on me. His eyes were blazing with a cold fury by the time he reached me.
"It was only for a few moments. You were busy anyway."
Mr Lancaster suspiciously eyed the men I was talking to. They didn't seem to care at all.
"You do not know your way around."
"I know, sir, which is why I stayed in one spot."
The musicians, especially Bran the Trombone Player, chuckled at that.
"And these strange men..."
"Were talking to me about music! Calm down!"
Mr Lancaster grabbed my wrist and pulled me alongside him. His grip wasn't tight enough to leave any marks... That was neither unnoticed nor unappreciated.